


A Lone Lasat

by RoninReverie



Series: Old Kanera Fanfiction [7]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Lasan, Minor Character Death, Mos Eisley, Tragic Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoninReverie/pseuds/RoninReverie
Summary: Tatooine Arc: 4/5Kanan meets with the possible new recruit as Zeb recalls his tragic past on Lasan.





	A Lone Lasat

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr: [Link!](http://roninreverie.tumblr.com/post/138255217424/a-lone-lasat)
> 
>  **IMPORTANT!** This series was written before the second half of season 2 aired on television, so all content is based on my headcanons after season 1 and the "A New Dawn" novel. 
> 
> This is a direct continuation of the Tatooine Arc.

It had been six years this very day.

The six foot alien man hardly moved, aside from a shuffle here or a growl there. He sat at the bar of the shady cantina in Mos Eisley, a table’s worth of shot glasses sprawled across the top of the bar.  No one dared sit near him, and the bartender, aside from a refill or two, left the shady creature pretty-much alone.

He was a strange sight, tall and strong in build, but an unknown species to most of the sketchy patrons inside the bar. However, it was not his intimidation factor that had warded people away—no—it was his smell.

“Another one over here!” He ordered. His voice was groggy, but far from drunk. There wasn’t enough drink on all of Tatooine to get him drunk enough to make it through today.

“This makes fourteen—” Wuher  _the bartender_  said in his matter-of-fact tone. “Hope you have the credits to fit your bill, stranger.”

“Why don’ you let me worry about that…” was his reply.

“Just a friendly warning…” the man shrugged, and pointed… “Keep it up. No credits means  _we have a problem._  Enough credits and these guys are going to have you paying off their tabs. Got it?”

Garazeb Orrelios was aware of that fact by drink number four. More drinks meant you had more money and the more money you had, the bigger the target that was painted across your back. Zeb knew it, but he didn’t care.  _Not today._

The Lasat growled in reply, prompting a snort from Wuher as he escaped to the other side of the bar, his hand wafting the air around his nose to escape the odor of the strange alien who roosted at his bar.

Zeb snarled under his breath and downed drink number fourteen without a second thought.

_Orelia._

His gaze softened, and he began stacking his empty glasses in a pyramid formation. It was almost relaxing until he felt a presence sit down on the stool at his side. With a snarl, the Lasat pounded his fist down onto the table and sent the glasses toppling over one another and into the floor. He turned slowly, piercing down the figure who had appeared before him with his sharp green and black eyes.

“Hey buddy,” Zeb growled. “Seat’s taken.”

“Oh yeah?” The cloaked figure retaliated with a strong command in his tone. Even so, Zeb could still make out the smile he wore on his face, and it really itched his fur.

The Lasat stretched his knuckles, each popping as his fingers returned to a fist.

“Yeah…” he said with a snarl.

“I just wanted a word in,” the stranger said. “Seems your friends over there are about to make a move.”

Zeb turned his head slightly towards the table in the back of the cantina. A Chagrian, a Weequay, a Zabrak, and a Tholothian, all males, sat at their table eyeing him down like a slab of meat. Their knives and blasters were flashing slightly atop the table as they whispered quietly to one another with malcontent in their eyes.

Zeb scoffed.    

“So, whatcha drinking?” the stranger asked. His voice was amused, but Zeb could tell that he was honestly curious.  

He rolled his eyes, and motioned Wuher for another glass.

“Aargauan Absinthe,” Zeb told.

The stranger choked on his spit.

“That’s a pretty strong selection my friend!” He smiled again. “And banned in over twenty sectors.”

“Meh…” the Lasat shrugged.

The hooded man looked to the toppled glasses in awe. That much Absinthe could probably kill a man his own size— _heck,_ even the strongest Besalisk drinker on Gorse could only handle about three shots before keeling over.

He removed his hood, and held out a hand. “Kanan Jarrus,” he greeted.

Zeb rolled his eyes, but shook the man’s hand nevertheless.

“They call me Zeb.”

“Lum over here!” Kanan ordered.

“Pretty common choice…” Zeb grinned a little as Wuher offered him his fifteenth shot.

Kanan received his glass and shook the contents around a little, staring intently into the tiny glass as the liquid spun around.

“Just drinking to a friend…” he said with a story hidden beneath his words.

“Yeah…” Zeb’s voice grumbled a little lower, visibly saddened by his own hidden story. “Me too.”

“To Okadiah then!” Kanan raised his glass a ways off the table.

Zeb looked at it for a moment, but grabbed his drink and let their cup sides clink together.

“Orelia.”

The two men downed the shots and slammed their glasses on the bar.

For Kanan,  _at least,_  it had been the first  _real_ alcoholic drink that he’s had in years. Hera didn’t much approve of them on the ship…and with her around, he never really needed one to feel at ease.

The last drink of Lum that he had, just may have been the last one he shared with his old friend Okadiah before he was killed on Cynda. The taste was the same, but where it once was mildly sweet and refreshing, now only tasted bitter with remembrance.

Kanan slid the glass away from him and then turned to speak again with his new friend.

“So Zeb…” he said. “What’re you going to do about those four?” He flicked his head backwards and pulled the hood back over his head.

The creature let out a tiny hum that growled through his throat.

Kanan stood and walked away, leaving Zeb at the bar, alone. Just as he did, the four bounty hunters in the corner all strategically stood and began their walk over to where the lone Lasat sat.

Zeb held an odd weapon on his back, and pulled it slowly over his shoulder. Meanwhile, Kanan hovered in the shadows over in the corner, his eyes watchful, but his mouth smiling wide as the six foot alien creature stood to his feet.

Zeb had won in size, towering a whole half-foot over the Chagrian, who was the tallest of the four bounty hunters. People had already sensed the bad blood in the air and started clearing space as little as they could, their lust for blood showing a mix of excited faces in the crowd.

“You’re looking a little tipsy, friend,” the Weequay said.

“Probably all those credits,” the Tholothian added.

The blue Chagrian man rubbed at his horns and chuckled, “Maybe we should help _even_ you out?”

“Hey!” The Zabrak exclaimed suddenly, “You’re a Lasat, aren’t you?”

Zeb’s fists clenched.

“You are!” The Zabrak boy smiled. “My dad used to tell me about you!”

“I didn’t think the Imperials left any Lasats alive?” The Weequay wondered.

Zeb growled, a hand in the pouch to his side, he pulled out enough credits to cover his order, and then slammed them down across the table.

“Don’t want no trouble…” he sneered down at them.

“He really is loaded!” The Zabrak whispered.

The Chagrian laughed again, “I’ll bet you’re worth  _far more_ than the credits you carry, pal.”

“Might be a  _pretty_  bounty on your head?” The Tholothian hissed.

Zeb’s large, pointed ear twitched—then the Weequay came at him with a knife. He avoided him skillfully, spinning past the blade and bringing his elbow down on top of the small man’s back. He was knocked completely unconscious before the other bar patrons had even heard him hit the floor.

The remaining three took a step back, but only for a moment. The three charged at Zeb simultaneously, but when the two flanked him, his weapon came into play—a bo-rifle, the electrified tips zapping with purple light. It extended into two of the bounty hunters’ faces, the last remaining member, getting a swift strike to his legs, before Zeb hovered the device only inches from the startled Zabrak’s eyes.

“Wanna have another go then?” Zeb asked, a dark humor in his voice.

Without reply, the Zabrak scrambled backwards and ran out of the cantina as quickly as his legs could carry him.

“Thought so.”

The cantina erupted into laughter and before everything went back to the way it was just moments before.

Kanan clapped slowly as he walked up to Zeb who retracted his bo-rifle, only to place it once again across his back.

“Impressive!” The blue eyed man marveled.

Zeb gave him a distrustful look, but he did not feel the need to draw his weapon.

“And what are you after exactly?”

 _“Why?”_  Kanan chuckled. “You interested?”

* * *

 

“You interested?” she asked again.

“Uh…” The young Lasat started to blush slightly.

“Come on, Garazeb!” The slender blue-furred girl asked again. “It’s the Royal Festival!”

“Abanath, I thought that you were going to the festival with Epla?” Zeb gave her a look. “He was already telling us how you asked him yesterday.”

She looked a little aggravated, “Well, that was before I knew you were going alone—” she said with a spring in her voice. “He’s not nearly as handsome as you are. So, what do you say? You interested?”

Zeb smiled and took the Lasat girl by the shoulders. Her yellow eyes lit up— _that is,_  until Zeb moved her to the side so that he could continue walking up the steps to the royal palace.

She scoffed, “Zeb!?”

“Go with Epla!” He didn’t look back at her, but his voice trailed down the stony steps, and he smiled to himself and hollered over his shoulder. “And don’t you dare back out on him, or I will be really upset with you.”

She stammered, but eventually silenced and dragged herself back down the steps in defeat.

Zeb chuckled, and traced the ivy growing along the walls with his hand. He skipped over the last of the steps and was met by the two guards waiting at the doors of the grand Lasan palace.

“Garazeb!” one called out.

The other added, “You’re in a surprisingly good mood today?”

“Joab,” Zeb grinned, taking in a huge breath of air before greeting the other guard. “Kezele. Today’s the day!”

“No…” Joab’s voice sounded astonished, but he returned with a mocking tone, “You don’t stand a chance!”

“You’re going to ask her to the festival, aren’t you?” Kezele teased.

Zeb growled at them as the two Lasats started to laugh.

“We’ll see whose laughing,” Zeb said, “When the princess and I show up at that festival—together!  _Tonight!_ ”

The laughter of the other guards did not subside, even as Zeb made his way into the palace.

Zeb rolled his eyes, but refused to let them change his mind. No… His gran had told him to follow his heart. This time, Zeb was going to ask her… _no matter what._

He walked lightly all the way to the changing room where he applied his uniform, polishing the medal that hung off of it with pride. The golden shape on his heart represented his ranking as a member of Lasan’s Honor Guard, the official watch of the palace of Lasan, and all her people.

Zeb made his way to the throne room where one guard, a yellow Lasat guardsman, waited still as stone for the changing of the guards. Zeb could perform this transfer with his eyes closed. He had trained for years in the Lasan army, practiced his discipline and honor effortlessly, and the fruits of that labor have shown these last five dust seasons.

As Zeb and the other guard finished their bows, he turned to leave the room, and Zeb took his position to the right of a grand silver throne covered in ivy and white flowers. The waterfalls on the sides of the throne room echoed throughout the gray slate room, the white and green light from the overcast skies spilling into the foyer that flooded with vines.

“Good afternoon, Garazeb,” a light voice said, interrupting the silence.

Zeb, who was trained to be silent and motionless, cleared his throat but remained looking forward. “Your highness,” he said back.

“Always so formal,” she said with a sultry chuckle. “After all this time?”

He heard her feet hit the floor, but Zeb didn’t budge, only to blink and swallow nervously. The view of the grand palace door was replaced all too suddenly by her almond shaped blue eyes.

“Garazeb, please look at me, when I’m speaking to you.” She snapped her fingers. “At ease then, come on!”

Zeb’s attention shook for but a moment. He would love nothing more than to look upon her—her slender build, her soft white fur with the dazzling purple stripes, those amazing eyes, _and that beard!_  But no—such a privilege—it was against all of his training.  _She knew that._  She often teased him in this way. It was torture—but the good kind,  _Zeb imagined._

He did not look at her, but he replied formally nonetheless.

“Negative, Princess, that would not be proper.” His face cracked a grin that no one could make out, and the princess stomped her foot against the floor impatiently.

“What if I told you that it was an order,  _hmm?_ ” 

She teased him by tracing her fingers along his chest.

“Still a negative ma’am,” he replied. After a moment’s silence, he watched her frown, and he continued in his robotic voice, as he spoke towards the wall. “However, I would be honored to talk with you—if you would agree to accompany me to the festival tonight.”

He swallowed nervously, but stood his ground. Her face made a few puzzling expressions before she finally averted her eyes back to him. There was a serious stare in her gaze.

Then she smiled wide and jumped around his neck. “Yes! Oh, I would love to!” She cheered.

Zeb could no longer hide his smile, he remained at attention, but his voice came out informal.

“I’ll uh—I’ll pick you up at dusk then?”

She released his chest and returned to her throne with a skip in her step. She sat and cleared her throat as well, her voice regaining its regal composer as she said simply… “You shall.”

The silence returned, just as it always had. They would be forced to wait like this until another duty demanded them, or if the princess had a visitor. It was a boring job, but when Zeb and the princess were together, the atmosphere didn’t seem so dull.

The secret conversations, the secret playful touching and flirting—it was the best part of their days. And now, that she’d agreed to come outside the palace with him—now that he’d had the courage to ask her—Zeb thought then that he was the luckiest Lasat on the whole entire planet.

* * *

 

“So where are we going?” Zeb asked again.

“To meet someone,” he replied simply. “I think that you are just the man she’s been looking for.”

Zeb’s voice sounded unimpressed,  _“She’s?”_

“Spectre One!” a melodic voice spoke as another hooded figure waved them over to a pile of scrap metal near a junker’s old droid shop. “Over here,” she said. “You kept me and Chopper waiting…”

An orange droid turned to look at him, and beeped towards the woman, who only patted him on the top of his head until he silenced. It seemed excited— _or possibly nervous,_  but Zeb didn’t speak Binary, so he couldn’t tell which it was.

“Spectre Two,” Kanan nodded and raised a hand to Zeb’s direction. “This is my new friend, Zeb. Zeb, this the one I was telling you about. She’s the captain of the  _Ghost._ ”

The tall Lasat looked down into the face of a green Twi’lek woman who wore a pair of caring green eyes on her. His face settled upon meeting them. There was something about her… _something comforting?_

“Garazeb Orrelios,” Zeb nodded. “Pleasure.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Garazeb Orrelios!” Hera held out her hand. “You can call me Hera, and this is Chopper.”

Zeb was a little astounded with her. It had been a couple of years since anyone had pronounced the R’s in his name correctly. He shook her hand in return and then gave his attention over to Kanan.

“And do you prefer  _Kanan_  or  _Spectre One_?” Zeb smirked.

He shrugged.

Hera spoke with a bright gasp in her voice, and returned the boys’ attentions.

“You’re a Lasat!”

Zeb blinked.

“—A member of the Honor Guard too!” Hera’s smile was impressed.

“H-How do you know that?” Zeb grew defensive. The only ones who would know that sort of thing are Imperials. “This was a trap?” Zeb reached for his bo-rifle, and Kanan got into fighting stance.

“Easy!” Hera held up her hands, “Easy Zeb! No one here is your enemy.” She sighed gently, and motioned towards herself, her voice soft and apologetic. “Forgive me for observing, but you know… it isn’t every day that you see such a high ranking Lasat walking around on a planet like _this._ ”

Zeb lowered his arm, releasing the weapon from his grasp. Kanan did the same, and Hera hid a breath of relief.

“We’ve been hoping to find someone like you, Zeb,” she said. “We cannot complete our next mission  _I’m afraid_ —well—well without  _you._ ”

“Mission?” He grumbled. “What mission?”

“Not here,” Kanan interrupted.

Hera agreed. “Kanan’s right. Come on, we’ll discuss details somewhere where it’s more private.”

* * *

 

“Garazeb, would you not rather go somewhere _more private?_ ” The princess giggled.

“Nah…” he grinned. “I’d rather have your company in public, so everyone can see you.”

“So I am a trophy to you?” she raised her nose at him.

Zeb chuckled, “It would be selfish of me to hide your beauty from everyone else. _Dontcha think?_ ”

She smiled and grabbed his arm.

“Such the charmer.”

The two Lasats walked through the crowd as spectators and friends waved at the two when they walked by. Other members of the Honor Guard praised Zeb for obtaining a night out with the treasured royal daughter of Lasan, while others bowed to their princess in signs of respect. The rest of them whispered about the two.  _Where they a couple? Was this proper? Oh, if her father knew?_ That’s about what Zeb imagined they’d be saying.

“So, how is your grandmother?” she asked.

Zeb snapped back to her attention and he nodded. “Still on Kashyyyk the last I heard. She’s a scrappy one,  _she is_.” He blushed a bit. “She was the one who actually helped me build the courage to ask you here with me tonight.”

“I would expect nothing less from a captain of our Honor Guard!” She teased him. “Your grandmother is much wiser than us all… I can see why my father requests her presence when he goes off-world.” She smiled before becoming distracted by the crowd, pointing… “Oh look! The parade’s already started!”

Music and dancing consumed the streets. There were hundreds of Lasats having a grand time and enjoying the merriment of their planet’s grand festival.

“Dance with me!” She tugged on her old friend’s arm.

“You know that I am not that much of a dancer,  _milady,_ ” he said with a rub of his neck.

She laughed at him, “Garazeb—” She hummed. His name was sweet on her lips. “I have known you for years and years—Since we were children even! I know we didn’t much talk until you began guarding me for my father, but  _do not_  attempt to lie to me.”

“Lie, Princess?” He smirked. “Never…”

“I know for fact that you are almost as prized a dancer, as you are a fierce member of the Honor Guard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again. “That— _may_  be true, Princess…but I—”

“Dance.” She persisted. “With me.”

He took her hand with a smile and she drug them to the courtyard where the others were celebrating. The two danced the night away, and  _for more times than one_ , Zeb felt like the luckiest man alive in the galaxy.

His movements stopped slowly as he watched her dance—such a grace and perfection in her movements—it could only have been obtained through many years of rigorous practice.  _Most of which, he had been there to witness._

She noticed that Zeb was still, and she too stopped dancing. Her soft stare and those glimmering blue eyes looked to him with a warm smile on her face. She took Zeb’s hands in hers and held them close.

“Princess, I—” Zeb started.

She stopped him as she inched closer to his face, the warming sensation bubbled up inside, and Zeb leaned forward, ready to experience the fireworks that would come with a kiss that only she could provide. The music and everything around them seemed to drift away, as it was them and only them together in this one, perfect moment.

Zeb’s ear twitched.

He pulled away only to hear the explosions ringing from the palace. Screams suddenly enveloped the festival as Lasats ran to escape the debris. Zeb grabbed onto the Princess’s shoulders and instinctually started running alongside everyone else.

Ships began to land, and a swarm of Imperial soldiers rushed into the courtyard, all of them carrying with them strange blasters, _the likes that no one had ever seen before._

Zeb paused for a moment and looked back as he heard the screams of his people, the blasters ravaging the courtyard in fire. Upon contact with one Lasat,  _a face that Zeb recognized from his childhood,_  the creature only had enough time to let out one single shriek, before his entire body burned apart from the inside out, leaving behind not even a scrap or a trace of his existence.

Zeb’s blood went cold.

“Run!” Zeb ordered, his voice shouting out the only thing he could think. “Get out of here, and don’t look back!”

“I will not leave you, or my people!” the Princess argued. She gasped once as a dying Lasat fell near their feet, his arm outstretched for help, but burning away before either of them could grab his hand.

After that, a few members of the Honor Guard appeared, each with their bo-rifles drawn, fire blasting from every direction as an unexpected battle commenced on the once joyous courtyard of Lasan.

As the enemy soldiers dropped, so too did the people of Lasan…only, there was no way of knowing what the body count could have been  _on their side_ , when there were no bodies left to count.

Zeb growled and pointed back at the palace.

“I’ll cover you, Princess! Get to the shelter! Protect the others!”

Fellow members of the Guard, Epla, Joab, and Kezele came in and boxed the Princess in a protective shield.

“Garazeb!” Joab yelled, “Get the princess out of here!”

“But—”

Kezele persisted, “Go! We’ve got your back!”

“We’ll be right behind you!” Epla nodded.

Under much protest, Zeb turned and took the princess’s hand. “Argh!” He growled. “Come on! I’ll keep you safe!”

They ran.

“But what about them!?” She hollered.

Zeb didn’t dare look back.

“They’ll be fine!” He hoped. “Just run!”

Many Lasat’s had begun to climb the tall trees that hid their entire village beneath their massive height. The sky, normally shrouded in leaves and vines, now only clouded with smoke and fire. This was not normal blast fire… these attacks were strong, calculated… It was almost as though—

“Look out!” She hollered, pushing Zeb back the way they came as one of the massive trees collapsed to the ground with an echo like thunder. The wind uprooted upon contact with the ground. The whiplash was strong enough to send anyone on the ground flying across the battlefield.

The two Lasats coughed, groaning to look back into the sky as the huge gap left by the tree exposed an entire fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers sinking towards the city.

“Karabasts!”

* * *

 

“Karabasts!” Zeb proclaimed. “You two must be out of your minds!”

“Maybe so?” Hera shrugged. “But that’s the plan.”

“You want to steal from Jabba the Hutt!?” Zeb proclaimed.

“Just a little?” Kanan motioned with his hand the exact amount he meant.

These guys were nuts—crazy—they were—

“You probably think we’re crazy,” Hera smiled warmly up at him. “Sometimes people need a little crazy in their life in order to survive— _or to at least help others survive._  It is our duty to free all of those imprisoned slaves! They need our help.”

“This is a pretty normal job for us,” Kanan said. “We steal from the Imperials, then turn it over to people who need it—We cause a little trouble here, free a few prisoners there—normal stuff.” He rubbed his chin. “We profit on stolen weapons then we find a trusted source and make a few extra credits in the process.  _It’s fun work._ ”

Chopper entered and started to beep rapidly.

“Chopper’s right,  _dear_ —” Hera agreed. “That does make us sound kind of like rebels.”

Kanan smiled. “Rebels? I like it. Not really what we were going for—more like “freedom fighters”, but  _rebels_  has a nice ring to it.”

“Okay, reel it back in Kanan…” Hera motioned. She turned to Zeb and stood. “Zeb. This is going to be  _big_! Bigger than anything Kanan and I could hope to do on our own. Once we have the others out of the palace, everything is going to be against our escape. We’ll need to get them to the  _Ghost,_  and leave immediately, but for that to happen I will need to stay here and wait with the ship.” She smiled. “That’s where you three come in. Chopper knows the route, and Kanan will need backup—a face that will get us access into the Hutt Palace.”

“With your skills and your strength,” Kanan added. “Those crooks will never know what hit them!”

Zeb growled once. “Alright… Okay! Okay! Assuming this works and assuming we live—why should I risk my life just to free a few slaves?”

“Like you really need a reason to steal from the Hutts?” Kanan tossed his hands up as though the question had already answered itself.

Zeb snorted. “They never did me any wrong…Not  _personally_ …”

Hera motioned Kanan back down, her voice calm. “You were a member of Lasan’s Honor Guard,” she said. “You should know better than most that sometimes, fighting for a single cause— _or fighting to protect others_ —doesn’t need as much reason behind it as you’d think.”

Zeb looked to the corner.

Hera continued. “You have faith and pride in knowing that you are helping to make lives better! We fight to protect the people who can’t protect themselves, and we help in any small way we can because it is the right thing to do.” Hera looked to Kanan, and added. “If all you do is fight for your own life, then  _your life_  is worth nothing.”

Kanan chimed in… “It took us a lot of running and hiding to figure that out, Zeb. You want to keep drinking your weight on this deadbeat planet—or do you want to get back into the fight? What will  _you_  do?”

* * *

 

“What will you do, Garazeb?”

He lifted her to her feet and surveyed the battlefield.

“I’m going to get you to the shelter. And we’re going to hold the line there so no more of us fall against these Imperials and their guns.”

“I agree,” she nodded. “Let’s hurry! If we can still get into the palace, maybe we can even contact my father—and he can bring help back from Kashyyyk.”

“Maybe?” Zeb replied, sneaking around the toppled tree. He peered nearby to make sure that there were no more Imperial soldiers about. The whiplash from the tree must have scattered them somewhere else? He waved for her to follow. “Coast is clear! Let’s make a run for it.”

“Right!”

They hurried across the open terrain and back into the trees. Smoke flooded the ground now as well as the skies. It was getting harder to see, much less breathe, and the Lasat’s acute hearing could only pick up the sounds of war and death coming from the festival grounds. The sounds of agony burned their ears. Zeb had half a mind to remove his own altogether.

But he had a duty to uphold, and Zeb held tighter to the princess’s hand, while she closed hers securely around his.

“Garazeb—” She whispered between breaths. “I think there’s something you should know—just in case we don’t—”

“None of that talk!” Zeb hushed. “The Honor Guard will protect you. I promised your father myself, that I would keep you safe.”

“I know!” She coughed once from the growing smoke. “But I just have this very strong feeling that—”

“Shush!” Zeb held his hand to her mouth, and drew his rifle. Through the hazy orange shadows of the forest, Zeb could make out a small figure, human, male, young, and holding tightly to one of those deadly disintegrating blasters.

He motioned for the princess to lay low, and he pounced silently into the skies, lurking through the trees as the young man stepped lightly about the marsh. Zeb took aim, and prepared to pull the trigger when a sudden, familiar cry called back his attention.

It was  _her._

He rushed to the aid of his princess, the other soldier hearing the scream as well. In Zeb’s haste, he had given up his position in the trees and the Imperial soldier started firing his blaster into the leaves. He missed, but the explosion was enough to send Zeb skyward. He plummeted to the ground before he could get a foothold back in the tree, and it knocked the wind out of him.

These blasters were powerful…even an indirect shot,  _a miss,_ could send a Lasat flying. It was terrifying.

 _This scum could not be allowed to reach the princess!_  Zeb thought.

He took aim once more, and fired without a second thought, the successful sound of impact and a small thud alerting him to a well hit target.

Zeb appeared before the princess who was fighting off two more Imperial Troopers. She smashed one into the ground with a swift punch, but it was the second one that aimed his rifle at her, and he readied to pull the trigger.

“No!” Zeb screamed. He took aim and fired as soon as his rifle met eye level, the blast from his gun sending the trooper backward— _but not before_  his final grip pulled firmly to the trigger of his blaster—and the spark of red light swerved past her body, missing her and hitting the ground a few feet away. The trooper had missed his target, though not enough to keep a single graze from making contact with the princess lower leg.

The soldier fell, just as Zeb had caught the falling princess in his arms. More troopers were coming fast, and Zeb picked her up and carried her deeper into the brush, running and not even knowing _where_ he was going, but running anywhere he could find to reach some sort of safety.

“Ga—G—Zeb…” she hissed faintly. She pulled down on his uniform so hard that she accidentally yanked off his medal, but Zeb didn’t even realize it. “Please!” The princess cried. “P-ut me down!”

The pain and begging that loomed within her voice compelled him to obey, and he set her on the grass at their feet.

For the first time, Zeb was able to look at her wound, and what he saw…it made his heart skip a beat.

“ _Karabast…_ ” his voice came out a whisper.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” She almost smiled at him.

 _It was._  The blast may have just grazed her leg upon impact… but the flesh-eating powers of the lasers were quickly working their way through her body. Her veins were starting to boil, and already, half of her right leg had disintegrated into nothing.

“No!” he lied. “No, you’re going to be fine Princess.”

“G—Zeb—” she smiled weakly. “Do not  _lie_  to me…”

Zeb fell back on his knees. He wasn’t sure what to do.  _What could he do?_  With every passing second, more and more of her body vanished, he could see the death working its way through her blood. What should he do? What could he do!? He it thought over and over frantically, pulling at his hair just to come up with something.  _Anything!_

The princess’s hand on his face made his blood freeze and all of his thoughts stop. He opened his eyes and returned the touch.

“C-Contact—” she quivered. “—My f-father—on Kayshyyyk—tell—him to send help.”

“No Princess…” He took her hand. “You’re going to tell him yourself… You have to—”

“Do this f-for me, Zeb!” she pleaded. “A-and one m-more f-favor.”

Zeb’s eyes filled with tears.

“Anything, Princess…”

“Call me by—my name—j-just once. I want to hear—you say it.”

Zeb blinked. He never has called her by her real name, not once.  _It was simply not done._  He was a warrior and she was the princess.

For the last five years he and she had built a bond while he had guarded her in the throne room. Through the silent days, or the long meetings, the lessons on dancing, language, and politics—Zeb had watched her learn and he had protected her life with no complaints.

As children, his grandmother had served under the king as an adviser. It was  _then_  when he met her for the first time. She was shy—a little standoffish—but Zeb was smitten with her nonetheless. He knew her only as  _the princess_ , and even after joining the Guard, even after being assigned to her watch, and even after working up the nerve to just talk to her after all those long, quiet months of service. _Even then…_ Zeb had always addressed her as he was raised to, as his superior.

Their relationship was scandalous enough. Their friendship was unheard of. The moments they’d shared in private…the near kisses, the secret conversations shared, the flirting. He loved her. But, he would never diminish her authority by addressing her as anything other than  _his princess._

“Orelia…” he said softly. The words felt good to speak aloud. His tears started then as he watched her blue eyes shine up at him, the tears streaking on her cheeks.

She smiled.

“Thank you…”

He grabbed her and hugged her close to him.

“I— I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you sooner— sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner—about the way I felt!” He sobbed.

“I know…” she smiled, tears in her eyes, “Me too…” Her eyelids grew heavy. “Protect them—Zeb—p-protect them—for—me…”

She closed her eyes and Zeb felt her body go limp. Her soft hand, still warm, fell from his face as the red parasites of the bullet ate the entire thing away.

“No, no, no…” He breathed. “Orelia… Orelia!”

It was no use.  _She was gone._

The blaster fire spread up her body and consumed what little was left of her. It seared the skin on Zeb’s forearms, but he still sat, holding her shape in despair as he watched every last scrap of his beloved friend and lover vanish.

Zeb was so stunned,  _so still_  that he didn’t even know how to stand up off the ground. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, and he didn’t even cry. He was at a loss, there was nothing going through his head, no sounds connecting to his brain.  _No thoughts at all._

Then his ear twitched.

He let his body take over… the left foot, then the right foot. Soon he was on his feet, stepping—then walking—and then running, and before he knew it, he was blasting…and then he was fighting.

Zeb fought all the way back to the palace—all the way to the remaining people from the festival who were hidden deep within the labyrinth of the toppled palace halls. Garazeb was in a daze, moving without thinking, and surviving only on impulse and instinct. At this point, he had only three things on his mind:

He was going to protect his people.

He was going to call for reinforcements with the king, and the Wookies.

And finally, he was going to take out as many Imperials as he could!

Until the cavalry arrived to offer ships off of Lasan, he was the people’s only hope. To his dying breath he would do only those three things—until he remembered how to do anything else. Zeb would follow his last orders from Orelia. He would protect as many survivors as he could.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe that I agreed to this…” Zeb moaned.

“It’s too late to back out now…” Kanan shot him a smile and spoke to his com-link, “Specter One to Ghost, Specter Two, are you on route?”

Zeb and Kanan’s communication devices each replied, “Affirmative Specter One, you’re set to go.”

Zeb rolled his eyes and spoke, “You even have code names? What, I guess I’m Specter Three, then?”

Angry droid voices screeched through their com-devices as Chopper complained loudly to Hera.

“Ow!” the Lasat’s ears rang.

“Negative,” Hera’s voice replied. “Specter Three is already in use.”

“You’re Specter Four!” Kanan teased.

Chopper’s head spun around smugly and he laughed up at Zeb, blowing binary raspberries until Kanan made him keep it down.

“Oh come on!” he complained, “The droid gets a higher ranking then me?”

“He _was_  here first?” Hera’s voice spoke. “Now cut the chatter. Your window should be opening up in three…two…one…”

Boba Fett turned to go inside. He stood watch every few hours, but judging by the music pouring from inside, Boba would leave his post every so often in order to enjoy himself and watch the dancers perform.

“Eyes on contact,” Kanan said. “We’re going in.”

“Good luck,” Hera’s voice gave off the slightest hint of worry.

“You too.” He turned to Zeb and adjusted his hood. “You ready for this Zeb?”

He replied honestly, though visibly aggravated.

“No…”

“Me neither…” Kanan grinned. He frowned and leapt from hiding, heading towards the newly repaired durasteel entrance. “Let’s go!”

“Karabasts…I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

 _“Probably?”_  Kanan only shrugged. “Wait until you hear how we’re expected to escape.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kanan smiled silently, Chopper chuckling in a low tone that made Zeb’s fur itch.

Zeb shook his head and jumped the wall to follow this mysterious new friend of his. Something was telling him that he had just walked into a whole new life of trouble— _but still_ , he couldn’t help but feel the slightest tingle of excitement.

_Maybe this new crew wouldn’t be so bad after all?_


End file.
